A Sin for Him
by DasTierInMier
Summary: Jeremy Wade finally comes home after a long fishing expedition and finds a great way to relax (I suck at summaries).


**A/N: **_Wow, this is my first fanfiction about anything. It kind of feels like a rite of passage into the internet. Anyway, I'm so, so sorry if this burns your brain. I got the idea to write this from Tumblr. Yep. Oh yeah, shitty title is shitty. I hate coming up with titles._

Jeremy drove his jeep through the tempest-tossed town with the company of the radio's crackling voice to the house that he called home for perhaps a fraction of the year. In the back, he could hear the rattling of his fishing equipment whenever his tires ran over a bump. The fishing had done him well, another paycheck to last him a good while so he could rest his weary hands. He glanced at his callused fingers on the steering wheel, his were knuckles scrapped raw from fishing hooks. Each scar that lined his hands held his story. The bites from fresh water beasts, burns from fishing line that whipped through his hands. The years of welcomed struggle dug into his hands, hardened them. His obsession had been etched into his skin. It broke his nails, almost snapped his wrist, and ripped the muscles in his arms.

He turned right down a street that lead to a dingy little diner before hitting rows upon rows of whitewashed houses and cracked streets, he debated whether to stop or go straight home, grab a cup of coffee before heading home. It was unattractive, the door smeared with grease from hands that couldn't be bothered to use the handle to push it open, on the dusty window the neon open sign flashed, flickered, blackened. The N long burned out. A fat scruffy cat slept on a crooked bench beside the door, a mountain of cigarette butts piled beside it. He wanted to go home, take a shower, but he also wanted to get out of the bloody car he had been driving for three hours. His legs ached and he felt his eyes droop, he yawned.

'_I won't stay long_,' He thought, looking up and down the street before turning into the parking lot '_I just need to get out of the car, walk around for a moment._'

Jeremy killed the engine, patted his pocket to check for his wallet, and stepped out of the car. It was the first day of autumn, cloudy with only a glimpse of sun through breaks in the clouds. He hadn't seen the town during a shining summer day for a long time, always being away to distant places, hauling in fish, each one bigger than the last to add another notch to his belt. Across the street, a girl with short bleached blonde hair wearing glasses was sitting on the concrete steps of a knick knack shop, smoking a cigarette, dressed in a band t shirt. She looked over to him, glancing at his baggy, dirty starting-to-be-threadbare clothes. He hadn't shaved that morning, he rubbed his stubbly chin. He gave her a polite smile though she might not have seen it; he turned his back to her and made his way to the diner entrance.

"I like your show!" He heard the girl shout from the steps. Jeremy looked back to say thank you, but he saw her going into the shop. Her almost finished cigarette's smoke curling into the air like ghostly fingers. He smiled at the spot where she sat. Maybe he could go into the little shop, go thank the girl, maybe even give her an autograph. Jeremy dragged his foot on the ground then turned back to the ugly diner, deciding against pursuing the girl. He patted for his wallet again and went inside. He was greeted with the smell of greasy food, freshly brewed coffee, and the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen. At the counter, he found a blonde boy with a silver ring stuck in his eyebrow, leaning on his elbow looking bored. At the end of the counter was an old man eating steak and eggs. Jeremy wondered how the man could even lift the fork he was eating with he was so skinny and fragile; his hand shook when he reached over to a plate of donuts to grab a sweet. A family with a boy around ten and a girl of perhaps two sat in a booth near the bathrooms. The mother spoon fed the little girl, cooing and talking with her.

"Coffee, please," Jeremy said to the boy.

"'Kay," the boy nodded, he moved with exaggerated laziness to grab a mug from a metal rack near the swinging kitchen doors. Behind Jeremy, the little boy tugged at his father's sleeve, whispering to him and staring at Jeremy, his little eyes turning wide.

"Dad," he tugged his father's sleeve again, "dad."

The father grunted, digging his fork into a mix of hash browns, eggs, and bacon. Jeremy gave a smile, but didn't go to introduce himself, despite being a host for a popular television show, he still felt like he would be intruding if he just went up to random people. Invading their space, their privacy, crossing boundaries. The boy put a full steaming mug in front of him.

"Can I get that to go instead?"

The boy rolled his eyes, picked the mug back up and turned back around.

The house sat on a hill, lonely, away from the rest of the houses, cupped in a warm green grove at the end of a winding driveway. One story, painted a pale yellow, something suggested by an old friend when he first moved in.

"_Just to brighten the place up, mate. Too much of one color drives a man insane. I should know, the old wife adores the color blue. Surprised I haven't turned into a Smurf by now._"

Jeremy smiled up at the house, leaning on his car door. He slammed the door shut and walked up onto the porch, the steps creaked under his weight. He brushed his fingers along the door's frame before opening it. It had been a while since he had been home. Now, he was here for at least a couple of months. He went inside, leaving his fishing equipment in his car.

Clean, with a faint scent of lemon essence in the air. Dappled light streaming through the windows, rippling across the granite countertop. Jeremy's stomach growled. He put a hand on his flat belly, maybe he should have eaten at the diner after all. He shrugged and went over to the stainless steel fridge that hummed quietly in the corner and opened it. Inside, he found the usual; milk, eggs, yogurt, bread, vegetables, and various other foods and snacks that he enjoyed. He smiled. Rita of the pink rimmed eyes and frizzy auburn hair. The maid he had hired to care for his house when he was away, always kept the fridge full, kept the place clean. Sometimes stayed there overnight, but never when Jeremy was home. She would only come for visits once in a while, stay for tea; ask about his trips, then leave to go back to her apartment. Jeremy closed the fridge and grabbed a bag of crisps from the pantry instead of making himself a nice hot meal. He should invite Rita over for dinner sometime.

In the living room, Jeremy flopped onto the couch and turned on the telly. He wrestled the bag open and ate the salty snack, one crisp at a time. He sunk into the plush couch, stretching his legs onto a footstool, he slumped his shoulders. He sighed. God, when was the last time he got to relax like this? He thought back. All the times he was back home, he spent what little time he had getting ready for yet another trip, looking through his hooks, selecting a fishing rod, packing his clothes and equipment, making calls to book flights and asking Rita to take care of the house while he was away. On his trips, he had brief moments where he wasn't struggling with the monsters he sought for, got to sit down, watch the lines. Chat with locals about the fish. It had been a long time.

His hand reached the bottom of the bag. He put the empty bag on the floor.

He brushed the crumbs from his shirt, plucked a loose thread at the collar. His finger lingered at his collarbone. He bit his lip and glanced around, as if someone might be watching or listening. He traced a line down the front of his shirt, down his chest. He shivered. He touched a nipple with shaking fingers, gently at first, then took it between his fingers to tweak it. He took a deep breath, let it out. His hand dipped down to his waist, slid it up his shirt. His hand felt hot, heavy on his own body, almost like someone else's hand. This heightened his sensitivity. His hand glided down, over his thigh, stroking it and gave it a squeeze before he slipped it between his legs. Jeremy felt a jolt of arousal when he pressed his hand against his crotch. He grew hard under his own touch; he bit back a moan as he pressed harder. The moan clawed from his throat when he rubbed his erection through his pants. He closed his eyes. He unfastened his pants, sliding his hand inside his underwear; he took himself in his fist. He ran his hand down the shaft. He sucked in a breath then began to stroke himself. He shuddered, drinking in the pleasure. He rested his head back on the couch, letting out gasps and moans he had not heard from himself in a long time. Jeremy ran his thumb over the tip of his member, smearing the pre-come to use it as lubrication. He whimpering quietly, giving his erection a firm squeeze. He felt his legs starting to quiver, his toes curled into the soft cushion on the footstool. His breath hitched as he worked his arousal, stroking at a brisk pace, using his fingers to tease the tip. His moans became more and more breathy as he rocked his hips into his hand.

"Oh God..." he moaned, licking his lips. Jeremy started to pant, feeling the release pooling. Before it could overflow, he stopped stroking. He bucked his hips into his fist. His face heated as he moaned louder, his moans turned into whimpers when he was close. He choked out one last moan and spilled onto his fingers, onto the floor. His hand fell. Breathing heavily, Jeremy fastened his pants back up. He wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead. He got up on shaky legs, careful to avoid stepping on the mess he had made. He went down the hallway to the bathroom. He took off his clothes and turned on the shower, he let it run until he saw steam fog the mirror over the sink. He smiled, stepping into the shower.

Home sweet home.


End file.
